


Brothers and bodypaint

by ohrion



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Werewolves, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-11
Updated: 2016-06-11
Packaged: 2018-07-14 11:48:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7169786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohrion/pseuds/ohrion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles gets invited to a party hosted by Cora Hale, the new girl at school. He's half naked and deciding on a bodypaint colour scheme when Derek shows up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Brothers and bodypaint

Stiles is very, very, very happy to come to the party. It’s hosted by the new girl at school who he hasn’t actually spoken to, and his invitation came via Scott, but still—he is here. At a party. He is not so happy about the semi-nudity and bodypaint, though.

Which is not a sentence he ever thought he’d say.

The new girl stands in front of him, hand on hip, while he flails around the selection of paints.

”I mean, I want a design, you know, not just random swirls or anything.” He pauses, glancing at the door Scott disappeared through. Scott went for two bands around his chest and arms, which, yeah, no points for originality there, but he supposed Scott was in a hurry to find Allison. Stiles is determined not to get his body out for anything less than the best design ever. “Is the Bat sign too pathetic?”

“Yes,” the girl replies, but her face softens. “But I could probably work the Flash in there somewhere.”

Stiles grins and points at her. “You are a genius. And I have a friend with an IQ over 150 so I don’t use that term lightly.”

She smiles. “I’m Cora.”

“Stiles.”

She tilts her head, and he can see the moment when she decides not to comment. He likes her even more.

“Okay, Stiles. Get up on the table and I’ll fix the hottest superhero design that no-one here will even recognise.”

Stiles laughs and tugs off his shirt and t-shirt, stuffing them onto the pile that’s grown in the corner of the room.

Stiles is okay with his body. Of course, growing up sharing a locker room with the Scotts and Jacksons and Dannys of the school means he’s well aware that that he’s not going to impress anyone with it. But still, he’s toned and there’s muscle there if you look closely, and anyway he’s rocking the lean and wiry look. At least, he’s rocking it when he’s alone in his room. Not so much at a party full of his half-naked classmates.

He tries not to look at Cora when he hops up onto the table next to the paints, but he accidentally catches her eye.

Cora gives him a quick once-over, not bothering to be subtle about it.

“Huh,” she says and Stile is about to demand an explanation (was that a “you’re surprisingly hot” huh or a “you’re more hideous that I though” huh) when Cora jabs two fingers to his chest. Stiles doesn’t even bother covering his wince and Cora is grinning smugly as she swipes paint over his belly button. Cora is getting some blue to mix with the purple when the music suddenly stops and the party in the room outside stills.

Stiles frowns at Cora.

“Oh shit,” she says.

Cora takes a step towards the main room but the door bangs open before she can reach it. Stiles had got half up and off the table to follow her, but he slumps back down as the hottest guy he has ever seen walks into the room.

The guy has a face like thunder, frowning and judging and furious and, sweet Jesus, the stubble running over his very clenched jaw will be making an appearance in Stiles’ late night fantasies for the next _year_.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” the guy hisses. Cora opens her mouth but the man cuts her off. “I told you not to do this. I told you.”

Cora doesn’t back down—Stiles isn’t surprised—but he’s not about to stand around while pissed boyfriend takes his anger management problems out on her. He’s vaguely aware of a small crowd gathering outside the door but he ignores them as he slides down to the floor.

“Dude, you wanna calm down over there?”

The man’s head snaps towards him and, god he looks like a serial killer. Stiles does the opposite of what all his evolutionary instincts are telling him to do, and takes a step forward. The man’s gaze flicks down over Stiles half-naked body and if anything that makes him glare even harder.

“You wanna get the fuck out of my apartment?”

“And let you beat up your girlfriend? I’m going to say no.”

The guy’s eyebrows rise to his hairline and there’s a weird sound from Cora.

“And let me talk to my sister,” he grinds out.

Oh, shit. Stiles looks at Cora, who is looking slightly shocked.

“I didn’t know you’d be back,” she says.

“So you thought you’d host an underage party while I wasn’t here?”

“I just—people come to parties,” she says quietly but defiantly.

Stiles frowns; he assumed she has loads of friends but now he thinks about he can’t remember her actually hanging out with anyone at school.

The guy, Cora’s brother, runs his hands through his hair, looking frustrated and a little lost (and a lot kissable, but that’s completely beside the point). The number of bodies that were grinding on the dance floor behind them has thinned out already and Stiles can see Jackson pushing his way forward to collect his t-shirt and leave. And, what is his life now, that Stiles actually wants to keep Jackson at a party he’s at.

“Look,” he says quickly, “why don’t we just carry on with the party and then afterwards Cora can show you that she knows how stupid an idea this was. I’m talking cleaning, shopping, cooking for the week.”

The guy just stares at Stiles and Stiles is having a really hard time deciphering it.

“Two weeks?” Stiles tries, not looking at Cora.

The guy gives a sharp nod. “Fine. But you’re helping her.”

“What?” he splutters.

Cora shoots him a wicked grin.

“Thanks,” she says then looks at her brother. “Music?”

He sighs. “The trip switch in the kitchen.”

Cora darts out of the room and the sound of chatting and laughter slowly comes from the next room. Jackson’s voice rises above the crowd until Cora manages to get the music back on and block him out. Stiles expects her brother to follow her out, but he goes up and shuts the door. He nods to the table and Stiles sort of follows his gaze to the array of body paints and frowns.

“You’re not finished.”

Oh. Stiles looks down at his chest. There’s a few streaks of purple and blue paint just above his belly button but not much.

“Erm, that’s alright. It’s not really my thing anyway, you know?”

The guy obviously doesn’t know and to be honest, if Stiles had anywhere near his muscle to fat ratio, he’d wear nothing but body paint. This guy makes Jackson and Danny look like amateurs.

“Sit.”

Stiles hops back up to the table in a particularly ungraceful move, even for him. He looks up to see if Cora’s brother noticed, but he’s staring at the paints. Stiles’ heart hammers in his chest. This man is actually going to put his hands on Stiles. He can see the guy’s muscles and nipples through his thin t-shirt and the way it stretches around his arms. The man drags a few paints towards him and there is no way Stiles is going to survive this with his dignity intact.

He clears his throat.

“I’m Stiles.”

“What sort of a name is that?”

“Dude, your sister was much nicer.”

The guy snorts. “Cora is definitely not nice.”

“Okay. So it’s a family trait, then?”

The guy’s head flicks up and there’s a slight curve to his lips. Stiles desperately wants to shift on the table, but he doesn’t dare draw any attention to his lap, which he’s 100% certain is home to the world’s most obvious erection.

“I’m Derek.”

Heat creeps down his spine as the guy steps forward, forcing Stiles’ legs wide apart. Oh god, Stiles’ legs itch to wrap themselves around Derek’s body. Cora didn’t feel it necessary to get quite so close.

He watches as Derek smears the paint over his fingers and Stiles can’t help picturing him with lube. Stiles can feel sweat on his palms as they grip the table. Derek smirks at him like he knows exactly what he’s doing, before touching his fingers against Stiles’ skin.

They’re cold and Stiles jerks at the touch, but Derek sweeps upwards and outwards, his fingers cool and strong where they press against Stiles’ body. Stiles focuses on a spot over his shoulder and bites down hard on his lip.

He has no idea what Derek’s drawing but when he sneaks a look at Derek’s face, his eyebrows are furrowed slightly. Stiles studies his eyes, the way the lashes sweep up and down as he looks over his handiwork, and the flare of his nostrils and the stubble running over his perfect jaw. Stiles doesn’t trust his voice to ask what he’s drawing and anyway Derek seems to know what he’s doing. Stiles would happily leave this room with miniature dicks drawn all over him if it means Derek keeps touching him.

Derek goes back to the paints every now and then, switching colors and then stroking yet more paint along Stiles’ body. His nipples are tight and erect and Derek’s fingers graze just underneath one. Stiles has to hook his legs under the table to stop himself from jerking forward into Derek’s hands.  

His thighs strain, stretched around Derek’s body as the man keeps painting, and his heart races in his chest. Stiles doesn’t deal well with anticipation at the best of times and his whole body feels on edge, like an arrow pulled taught in a bow.

Derek’s fingers move lower, dragging over the skin just above his jeans. Stiles’ breathing is loud over the muted music from next door and he’s pretty sure his dick is dangerously hard by now. Derek’s nails graze his hips and he lets out a soft moan.

He eyes snap to Derek’s.

Derek’s staring back, eyes wide and dark. Stiles looks down and, holy shit, there is definitely a bulge in the front of Derek’s very tight jeans.

Derek’s hands slide down and he runs his palm along Stiles’ dick, and Stiles, gaze still locked on Derek, can’t help the way his hips buck upwards. He makes a humiliating needy sound in his throat.

Derek’s eyes flick down to Stiles’ mouth and Stiles can only image how red his lips must look from how much he’s had to bite them. Derek looks back up.

“Bedroom?”

“Yes. Oh my god, yes.”

Derek steps back and Stiles half leaps off the table, colliding with Derek, who steadies him with a hand on his shoulder.

Derek leads him out the other side of the room (thank the lord, he does _not_ need the school to see him like this) and up a winding staircase. Stiles has time to register that Derek’s room is large and almost offensively tidy before Derek is backing him against the door.

Stiles has kissed people before. Not many, okay, but he’s done it and he knows the feeling. Derek does not kiss like that. Derek is demanding and forceful and Stiles is absolutely not going to be the submissive one here without a fight. He bites Derek’s lips, crowing internally when Derek gasps and moans against his mouth.

Derek’s clothes come off quickly and Stiles fumbles with his jeans until Derek pushes his hands away.

Stiles is happy to go back to clinging to Derek’s shoulders and neck and he lets himself be walked backwards, out of the jeans and into a bed.

He bounces slightly as his back hits the mattress, and then he’s lying naked on a bed, while the hottest guy on the planet stands at the other end, staring down at him.

“So, is there a conversation we should be having here? I mean—I’m guessing you’re into topping, but you know,” he gestures at his chest, “the painting suggests a softer side, so I just want to be clear—”

Derek climbs over to his and kisses him mid-speech, which, okay, good plan.

Stiles is panting when they pull apart.

“Do you ever shut up?”

“Nope.”

Derek pulls back and gives him a wicked grin. “Really?”

Stiles opens his mouth to reply, but it turns into a weird moan as Derek drags his fingers along Stiles’ dick. He does it a few more times, lazily rubbing a thumb over the slit when he reaches the head. Stiles lets his head fall back as Derek’s fingers curl around him and he strokes maddeningly slowly.

“You ever done this before?” Derek asks.

“Yeah, yes, loads of times,” Stiles babbles.

“With someone else.”

“Ha. Ha.”

Derek sits back. “I’m serious.”

“Erm, well. I’ve researched. Thoroughly.”

Derek snorts and leans back until he’s all the way off Stiles. He gets off the bed entirely and walks away and no, no, no. That is just Stiles’ luck that the hottest guy he will ever have the opportunity to sleep with changes his mind at the last minute. Stiles is furious and aching and harder than he’s ever been in his life.

“Dude, if you say we’re just going to cuddle, I am going to be so fucking pissed.”

Derek turns back around with a condom and lube in his hand.

“We’re not just going to cuddle.”

“Oh.”

Stiles feels a bit shaky, but his dick has no doubts at all as Derek walks back to the bed.

He crawls up the bed, sitting back to stare at Stiles’ stomach and chest. Stiles looks down at the paint. It’s a sort of spiral with three arms coming out of the middle and it’s mostly blue and purple but there’s a thin strip of yellow at the edge of each arm. He traces one of the arms with a finger, smearing the paint over his fingertip.

“What is it?”

“A triskelion.”

Derek nudges Stiles’ legs until he’s hugging them to his chest. He feels horribly vulnerable and Derek can see everything. But Derek doesn’t seem repulsed by him and he actually takes a few deep breathes before squeezing the lube onto his fingers. Stiles takes a moment to congratulate himself on his very accurate imagination because, yes, this is exactly the paint situation all over again. He swallows as Derek’s fingers brush against his hole.

“Relax,” Derek tells him and Stiles huffs.

“Yes, thank you for that—” he gasps as Derek’s finger pushes inside, “—brilliant piece of advice that I would never have figured out on my own.”

Derek huffs and Stiles watches him, feeling Derek’s free hand stroke along the inside of Stile’s thigh as his finger moves slowly in and out of Stiles’ ass. He was telling the truth earlier—he really has done a lot of research. A lot of it involved him touching himself, and he hadn’t expected it to feel so different when it was someone else doing the touching. Derek’s finger is different, bigger, insistent.

Stiles realises he’s rocking his body back onto Derek’s hand now, needing more. His hands grip the sheets and he opens his legs wider, shameless and desperate.

“Tell me about the tri-skelly-thing.”

“Triskelion,” Derek says.

“Fine, ok. Triskelion. Tell me, ah, tell me about the triskelion.”

“It’s an ancient Celtic rune—”

“Jeez, dude, nobody talks about death runes when they’ve got a finger inside someone else’s body. This is basic sex etiquette here.”

“How would you know?” Derek asks, twisting his hand and making Stiles shudder and gasp. “And I’ve got three fingers inside you now.”

“Ohmygod.”

Stiles is still focused on the delicious feeling of _full_ and _right_ , that he doesn’t notice what’s coming next until Derek’s mouth is around his dick. Stiles looks down his body to see Derek’s cheeks hollow as he moves his head in time to his fingers.

“Oh fuck, I am seriously not going to last long. I—Derek,” he tries to warn, but Derek just sucks harder and Stiles twists his hands in the sheets as his orgasm shoots through him.

He sags against the bed, vaguely aware that Derek is still licking at his dick.

Fuck.

Stiles’ breathing is ragged.

Derek pulls his fingers out of him and turns him over—Stiles letting Derek maneuver his body however he likes—before he shoves a pillow under Stiles’ hips and Stiles knows what’s coming next.

Derek places a hand on his hip and settles himself behind Stiles.

“Don’t even think about telling me to relax,” Stiles warns.

Derek rubs a little circle on Stiles’ hip.

“How about to stop talking?”

Even with all the prep, Stiles’ ass still burns when Derek pushes inside, but he tries to relax. Derek’s hand slides up and down his hip, soothing and steady, and Stiles breathes in time with it.

“So good,” Derek says, voice gentle even as he pushes further in with each thrust. And Stiles is torn between wanting to stop and wanting more. It’s a shaky sort of feeling, like he’s forgotten his aderell and his mind is buzzing with too many possibilities for him to concentrate on just one.

Then Derek bottoms out and Stiles is fully stretched around the whole length of him. Derek grunts behind him, hands tight around Stiles’ hips. He feels Derek shifting, bending down to kiss a shoulder blade, and the movement grazes something inside him, lighting him up like a match.

His whole body jerks.

“You alright?”

“Oh, god, fuck. Yeah. Yes, so definitely alright here.” Stiles clenches his ass and feels a thrill when Derek growls behind him.

It doesn’t take long. Derek’s hips snap into Stiles, the force of it pushing Stiles along the bed until he manages to brace himself with a hand against the wall. His body thrums and every time Derek hits that magical spot he feels a jolt of pleasure flash through him.

Stiles isn’t really paying attention and he starts when Derek yanks him up to his knees, holding his wrists in one hand and still driving into him from behind. Stiles is gasping, fingers scrabbling against Derek’s hand, and arching his body back into Derek when Derek’s other hand reaches around and grips his erection. Fuck, he didn’t even realize he was hard again. He didn’t realize he _could_ be. It takes two, three pulls and Stiles spills all over Derek’s hand, barely able to think straight.

He thinks Derek comes a few moments later, but he’s a bit out of it and then all he can feel is Derek’s mouth on his neck. Derek lowers them both to the bed and Stiles feels Derek pulling out and then the bed dips. Stiles guesses he’s throwing away the condom but his head is too heavy to lift right now.

He can still hear the quiet sounds of the party downstairs and he grins as he thinks of Scott and Allison and Danny all dancing, while he’s just had what must be fantastic sex by anyone’s standards. He owes Scott so badly for getting him invited tonight.

The bed dips again and Derek slides his body next to him.

“Really want to see your face next time,” he mumbles.

Derek says something, Stiles thinks he’s agreeing, but his eyes are drifting closed. 

When he opens his eyes there’s a blank wall staring back at him. He doesn’t remember falling asleep and he definitely doesn’t remember being moved underneath the covers. He feels Derek’s solid body behind him so that answers some of his questions.

He can’t even muster up the strength to comment about being the little spoon. Actually, it’s quite nice; he doesn’t know what Lydia is complaining about.

Derek strokes along his arm.

“Are you okay? You passed out, I think.”

Stiles flushes. First time with an impossibly attractive guy and Stiles Stilinski fell asleep on him. Typical.

“Uh—sorry, that’s never happened before. I mean, obviously it’s never happened before because, you know, _nothing’s_ ever happened before, but—”

Derek pushes a hand over Stile’s mouth and Stiles licks it without even thinking. He fumbles backwards a second later.

“Oh my god, what did I just lick?”

Derek snorts behind him.

“Nothing. _One_ of us has had a shower.”

And, shit, Stiles should really go and shower. Or just go and leave Derek alone. Stiles has never done this before; he has no idea about casual hookups, although he’s pretty sure he’s not supposed to fall asleep right after. Should he have left quietly hours ago?

Stiles stretches his legs and winces slightly. Yeah, so maybe he’ll wait a bit before he makes his subtle retreat. They lie together for a while and Stiles’ breathing slows in time to Derek’s chest rising and falling against him.

He’s feeling achy but satisfied and he knows if he doesn’t get up soon, he’ll fall asleep again. But Derek doesn’t seem to be in a hurry for him to go.

“So, um, I should probably get going.”

Derek, helpfully, says nothing.

“I mean, I could stay here, that would be cool, but I could also go home.”

Silence.

“My jeep’s outside.”

More silence.

“Feel free to weigh in here at any time.”

“It’s up to you. But it makes sense if you stay here.”

“Makes sense?”

Stiles gets flashes of morning sex and lunch dates followed by afternoon sex and his dick stirs in interest. Maybe Derek’s one of those guys who likes to take care of his partners after sex; maybe he wants to clean Stiles’ tender body and give it all his attention.

Yep, his dick is definitely awake again and he grinds his ass back into Derek.

Derek hums into his shoulder.

“Yeah. You’re cleaning this place up, remember.”

Stiles’ hips stop and he slumps into the pillow. Derek just laughs behind him and wraps an arm around Stiles’ chest, pulls him closer and traces the pattern still painted onto Stiles’ chest.

Probably not hinting Stiles should leave, then.

 

\+ + +

 

Derek’s gone in the morning but Stiles isn’t too concerned. He’s quite happy to have a moment to himself, checking himself over as he showers and then trying to rescue his clothes from Derek’s room.

Dried semen is disgusting, he learns, and he really, really hopes his dad has never checked his laundry too closely.

His whole body aches during the next day and Cora laughs at him every time he forgets to sit down slowly. Derek appears occasionally, usually to complain that Cora and Stiles are spending more time chatting than actually clearing up. Stiles is awed over how good looking he is every time and the eye rolls that Cora sends him tell him he’s not being subtle about checking out her brother. Derek brings food, though, and actually cooks them all chili for dinner so he can’t hate them as much as Cora claims he does.

Also, there’s the fact that Stiles ends up back in Derek’s bed every night that week.

It turns out Derek does like to take care of Stiles.


End file.
